The End of an Era
by sarahyellow
Summary: In a world where werewolves and humans are segregated due to a centuries-old war, life is a little simpler and a little less fair than it used to be. Stiles spontaneously changes from human to were one day, and his world is rearranged due to that one, stupid fact. He has a destined mate, and an important role to play in the Hale pack. He just doesn't know it yet. M/M, STETER.


For the first ten years of his life, Stiles Stilinski never thinks much about wolves at all, let alone the wolves of Beacon County. Everyone's sort of sequestered on this side of the Sierra Nevadas, living in the last forested pocket of California before everything becomes rocks and dirt for days. Still, the wolves manage to keep their distance. They live outside of town, for one thing; past the northernmost leg of the Sacramento River, out on the preserve. Every once in a while you'll see one of the Hales in town hall or at the sheriff's station, doing something official—or so Stiles' father tells him. But what ten year old pays attention to things like that? None, and certainly not Stiles, whose attention is harder to keep than most. So he never thinks about the wolves. At least, that's what Stiles claims. Though Stiles is known to lie.

For the most part wolves are something Stiles only thinks about in school, when they get a particularly politically-correct teacher who has them do social studies projects involving the wolves and how they came to be. In school, along with everyone else, Stiles learns the histories: the age of humans, the great time of conflict, and the ebbs and flows that came after. He learns about how people had started transforming hundreds of years ago. Some people changed into wolves and some people didn't, and the ones who didn't weren't nice at all to the ones who did. And there had been a long war and a lot of blood and guts and the wolves had won. That's the gist of it at least. To a ten year old child, hundreds of years seems a very long time ago. Only the blood and guts part is even remotely interesting to Stiles, and still certainly nothing of significance. As far as Stiles can tell, life is fine, and it's completely normal to have all of the humans in one half of the county and the wolves in the other. That's how they do it everywhere, his teacher says. Wolves in one place, humans in another. Separate but equal, his teacher says.

Mrs. McCall likes to say that it's easy to forget who controls you when they keep such a polite distance.

Stiles reads the file folder of arrest documents that he found a while ago on one of the officers' desks. It isn't the best reading material but it does hold the appeal of being something related to violence and criminals, and is therefore probably not something he should be reading. Unfortunately someone else notices.

"Put that down!" A hand comes out and grabs the packet of reports, successfully ripping it from Stiles' hands. "You're supposed to be doing your homework, not stealing things off Officer Tate's desk!"

"Well he's the one who left it there." Stiles looses a bored sigh. "I can't do my homework."

"Why not?"

"I need colored pencils."

The deputy gives him a sharp look. "You have a pencil."

"Yeah but I need colored ones," Stiles says impatiently. He holds up his social studies worksheet to show. "We're supposed to color in where the Mayan, Aztec, and Incan civilizations were." Stiles doesn't know why really. It's not like a he or any of his human classmates will ever get permits for interstate, let alone international travel. Stiles thinks it's a shame, since the Aztecs sound even cooler than werewolves. "Colored pencils, please," he says winningly to Pruitt.

The man sighs, and Stiles can tell that Deputy Pruitt is frustrated with him for making him give so many of his office supplies. But Stiles can't help it! He is being unusually good at focusing on his work—or at least at not bothering the adults around him. So what if he needs a few binder clips and highlighters and police files to entertain himself with? It isn't like he _wants_ to be doing his homework at the station. That is totally not cool. Other kids might think it would be cool to hang out at police headquarters but Stiles is the sheriff's son and he knows from experience—it is not like T.V. There is nothing fun to do and nobody to talk to and handcuffed criminals don't ever get tackled in the hallways. And since his dad is there Stiles can't even blow off his homework for a few hours. You'd think the sheriff of an entire county would be too busy to poke his head out of an office door every ten minutes to check on his son's homework, but he isn't. Stiles usually goes to Scott's house after school, but Scott's gone and gotten the chicken pox. He hasn't been in school for a week—lucky idiot—so Stiles is stuck spending his afternoons at the station until his dad can drive him home.

It's almost four o'clock when the door to the station opens. A woman walks in, followed by two kids: a boy and a girl. The boy is older and wearing worn-in jeans and a leather jacket. Stiles immediately decides that he wants one just like it. The girl beside the teenager is probably closer to Stiles' own age. She looks bored to be there. _Join the club_ _,_ Stiles thinks. There is a man who stands outside of the station's door, not coming in though he obviously arrived with the other three. He has a serious expression, and Stiles thinks that he looks like the bad guy in a movie. The woman who came in first is Alpha Hale. Stiles only knows this from having seen her on local television before. He's heard plenty of stories from his dad, but he's never seen the woman in person yet. Nor has he seen many of the wolves at all really. They usually stay away, and humans, as far as Stiles can tell, do pretty much the same. As the sheriff, Stiles' dad has more contact with the wolves than most, and this fascinates Stiles to no end. Right now his dad has emerged from his office with a concerned look on his face. Stiles watches as the sheriff greets alpha Hale and they exchange tense, hushed words. "Are those the Hales?" he asks Pruitt excitedly. He's never seen anyone else from the family but they do look to be related. "Are they?"

Pruitt frowns at him. "Yes. Be quiet. They can hear you."

As if in proof of this, the one kid—the boy—turns to look over at where Stiles is sitting. He has black hair and green eyes (Stiles is a little disappointed that none of the newcomers are currently sporting spooky wolf-eyes). He looks very cool—definitely in middle school, maybe even high school. Yeah, definitely in high school. As a current fifth grader, Stiles doesn't think that there is much cooler than being in middle school. And _high school_ , well… _pfft_ , that pretty much guarantees automatic coolness in Stiles' world. The boy continues to stare at him with interest, and Stiles goes on thinking about middle school and older kids, but then also about how much harder homework will be in the sixth grade. He wonders if school is any harder at the schools that the wolves go to, at the schools that the two kids across the room undoubtedly go to. He wonders if they're allowed to run around like wolves at recess. The kids, he realizes, must be Derek and Cora Hale; son and daughter to the alpha, Talia Hale. Kids at Stiles' school like to make stories up about them. Stiles most of all.

The girl finally catches sight of her brother watching Stiles, because she walks over and whispers something to him. Whatever she says makes him look away, and then the two of them go to join their mother in the room where Stiles' dad's office is. The door is shut with a resounding thud, which means that whatever is being discussed inside is probably serious business.

Stiles does a squiggly dance in his seat. This is so cool! Scott may have gotten to stay home sick but now Stiles knows he can make him jealous because he's seen the wolves—multiple ones!—in person. He'll call Scott that night and brag all about their spooky eyes and super powers. Stiles is about to get up and go investigate why the Hales are all here in the first place, but Pruitt hisses at him to get back to work and stop staring.

Whatever is going on with alpha Hale, it really is serious business. Stiles could pee his pants—but seriously, not really—with how exciting it is. The adults in the station aren't telling him anything but they're all nervous energy, buzzing police radios, and phones with six lines on hold since that afternoon. _Finally_ , Stiles thinks, this is starting to actually resemble T.V. He wants to know what has happened, and he can guess that whatever it is, is a pretty big deal because officer Pruitt looks genuinely distressed and some of the deputies have been discussing "the medical examiner" and "the crime scene." These things, Stiles knows, are what people talk about when someone is very hurt, or very dead. Later, a few men get dragged into the station, handcuffed and solemn.

Stiles' dad won't tell him a thing. He gets another officer to drive Stiles home that night and Astoria Martin babysits. Stiles falls asleep to the sound of her talking to her boyfriend on the house phone.

A girl was murdered.

Stiles continues to be fascinated by it, but the coolness factor is somewhat dampered by the details that he learns over the next week or so. Kids at school have about ten different versions of the truth going around, each one slightly warped with fantastic embellishment. But Stiles knows the true-truth. And for the first time ever, he doesn't really feel like bragging about it.

A girl Stiles' age was murdered.

It's been hard to piece it together, but snooping through his father's police stuff got him half of the way there, and John sitting him down for a serious one-on-one rounded out the rest.

A werewolf girl Stiles' age was murdered by a group of human men. They made some dogs eat her alive.

John tells his son the truth in an attempt to temper his desire to know more, more, and more. And it does seem to work to that effect because as soon as Stiles hears it, he looks as if he'd rather forget. So yeah, he tells Stiles so that he'll stop prying. But he also does it because Stiles just doesn't _get it_. He still doesn't quite understand the way that the world works, with wolves and humans and the way things are between them. Better he learn now by tragic example, rather than continue on until he himself one day does something stupid. Pisses off the wrong werewolf with his inquisitive nature and gets hurt. John doesn't want that for his son.

So he tells him. Tells him to shock him out of his naivety.

Four grown men kidnapped, tortured, and killed a little girl. She was out running like a wolf and they shot her and put her in a cold, scary basement. Two of the men had had young daughters who fell prey the year before to violence from a were that'd gone feral in the county. And now a ten year old little girl is dead because of grief, and hate, and revenge.

At this point in the conversation, Stiles still finds the breath to ask how the men killed her. His father tells him that she was mauled to death by dogs—the human men's version of poetic retribution. Stiles feels like he's just learned something that he's definitely not grown up enough for, and maybe John understands because he takes Stiles' hand and rubs it; explains how humans and wolves have been trading atrocities back and forth for as long as anyone can remember, and tells Stiles that, "Sometimes in life kiddo, there are some really evil things that happen, and nobody can make sense of them."

And hopefully the perpetrators had their fill because now the wolves are going to bring swift and terrible vengeance for this crime. Or at least, that's what Stiles' dad tells him.

Stile's world is getting more interesting by the day. First Talia Hale shows up at his dad's work, then the most disturbing case of human-on-wolf crime that has ever been seen in Beacon Hills comes to light, and thenthe alpha comes to their house, and _now_ she's staying for dinner?! Stiles can't believe his luck. He tries to get away to call Scott that evening but his dad keeps saying that this visit with the Hales is more important and that he can tell Scott all of his stories tomorrow. Where he would normally act frustrated with Stiles, John now seems resigned. Where he would normally give Stiles the evil eye for misbehavior, he instead gives him a regretful smile. Stiles hopes his dad doesn't start drinking at dinner. He seems to be in that sort of a mood.

The man and the kids stand behind her as Talia greets his dad with a handshake. Stiles figures that the two of them, if not their larger respective communities, must at least be on good terms. She asks John about the mood in town, and Stiles hears his dad murmur darkly to her about "upset people," "discontent," and "town meetings."

Talia goes privately with his dad into the formal living room, speaking of "preventing vigilantism," "increased police presence," and "curfew enforcement." She says that things haven't been this bad in thirty years, not since the Argents were turned, and Stiles wishes he knew who the Argents were because _that sounds dire_. Then Talia changes her tone and tells John that they should put aside talk of this current 'fiasco', and focus on the matter at hand instead. She sounds almost sympathetic and John sounds sad…

Stiles would linger outside the room and try to eavesdrop more, but the man who came with Talia is standing there looking quite threatening. He has a scar that comes up out of the neck of his shirt, curving the edge of his jaw and nearly reaching the outer corner of an eye. He doesn't look like someone whom Stiles wants to cross, and so instead Stiles convinces Derek and Cora to play on the old foosball table with him until dinner.

Everybody arranges themselves around the dining room table when John Stilinski brings out the lasagna. It is one of the few things that he's gotten really good at making since Claudia's death, but it never gets old. Stiles is pleased to be seated next to Derek and the platter of garlic bread. Derek, he's since learned, is alpha Hale's middle child. Laura is the oldest—though she isn't present. At Stiles' same age, Cora is the youngest, and the man who looks like a movie villain is in fact their uncle, Peter Hale. There is something magnetic (and by magnetic Stiles means creepy) about Peter that makes Stiles glad he's decided to sit on the opposite side of the table. Stiles feels very aware, for lack of better phrasing, of the man's presence in the room. It's funny that he draws Stiles' attention so, because Peter seems to be doing everything in his power _not_ to look at him. Then there's also the fact that Stiles is pretty sure that Peter smells like the Cinnabon store at the mall—which like _holycrap_ is of course the best smell ever! _ANYWAYS_ , exactly why they feel the need to expressly introduce the entire family to him and then surround him at dinner, Stiles doesn't know. He attributes it to the recent murder and his dad's status as Sheriff. That is at least, until conversation veers in another direction.

"So Stiles," Talia says, addressing him with a caring look. "Your father tells me that you like to tell quite the stories about us."

Stiles immediately freezes up. _Uh-Oh_. He glances worriedly to his dad, wondering if he's in some sort of trouble for the things he often tells Scott and sometimesalways maybe even their whole class. Is that why alpha Hale had come to the station? he wonders, feeling intimidated. Has word of it gotten back to Talia and made her angry? Stiles swallows, imagining what it would be like to see a werewolf transform at your dinner table and eat you. Talia looks really pleasant and sincere, but then again so does Stiles' classmate Lydia Martin and he knows for a fact that she isn't. "Stories?" he squeaks, "Yeah I tell lots of stories. Not just about you guys but I mean, werewolves are pretty cool so sometimes I make things up. Just so it's more interesting. Kids at school think it's neat." Stiles looks down at his plate, making forlorn patterns in the sauce. "I won't do it anymore though." Talia Hale chuckles. The sound is so far from reprimanding that it has Stiles looking back up to her in hope. Maybe she won't tear his throat out? "You're not mad?" he asks her. At his side, Derek seems to almost laugh, and Talia tells him,

"No Stiles. I was just trying to talk with you. I realize that you haven't had much contact with wolves before. We're not monsters intent on eating people. In fact," she leans forward conspiratorially, "I'd bet you that we're a lot more boring than you think."

Stiles smiles a little into his water glass. "I don't think so," he says.

Talia shares his smile and it makes Stiles feel less apprehensive. "I'd like to get to know you Stiles. I'd like to be your friend, if I can."

Stiles stares at her dumbly. "Why?" Grownups never want to be friends with kids. When they say they do, it usually means trouble. "Why?" he repeats.

"Well despite these dark occurrences of late—I'm sure you've heard about what happened—something else has come up and it concerns you. It's nothing bad, I promise, but you and your father and I have to figure out what we're going to do."

It takes Stiles' ten year old brain a second to process that. He concludes that he has absolutely no idea what the lady is talking about. "Ah… okay," he says. Mind switching gears from what Talia Hale isn't saying, Stiles abruptly thinks of Scott and asks her, "Hey! Could you come back for dinner another night? My friend Scott is sick right now but he would go bonkers if he could see you!" His smile fades as he realizes how that sounds. Blushing, he amends, "I mean, meet you."

Talia turns her gaze to John, and something about her easy expression slides off. She almost looks a little sad. "He's just as excitable as you said," she chuckles half-heartedly. "Forgive me sheriff," she says to John, "I was just trying to make conversation."

"Segues aren't really an effective tool with Stiles," John says dryly with a look to his son. Somehow he sounds both fond and sad.

Stiles wonders what the heck's got everyone looking so darn sad. "What's a 'segue'?"

"Perhaps you could tell him. It might be better coming from you and I frankly don't even know where to start. I haven't ever had to do this." Talia glances over to regard Peter. "Not many have." Peter raises his eyebrows as he contemplates the surface of the dining table.

John nods solemnly, looking just as downtrodden as he has all evening. Stiles is used to seeing his dad tired and stressed from his police work, but he has seemed more than a bit off since his sit-down with alpha Hale in the living room. For the first time, Stiles considers that there might be something going on here that is bad. Perhaps not the sort of bad where wild dogs eat a young girl alive, or where Talia Hale rips his throat out over the garlic bread, but bad in some other way. Stiles sets down his fork. "Dad? What's she talking about? Tell me what?"

His dad looks at him, thoughts collecting in the age lines of his face as he worries over how to say what he has to say. He clears his throat, scooting his chair a little closer to Stiles' own. "Something big has happened kiddo," he says tiredly. "Our lives are going to change forever, but I want you to know something very important: I love you Stiles. I always have and I always will."

Stiles bites his lip. "I know that dad." His father's words are nice but they make him anxious. John Stilinski doesn't usually do sentimental very well. "Please tell me dad. I'm worried."

"Um, well," he says, "Alpha Hale came to the station last week to deal with the murder. But while she was there something else happened. Something nobody expected."

"What?"

John frowns, trying to push away any visible grief in his features. "While his mom was in my office, Derek noticed something about you."

"Huh?" Stiles wrinkles his brow. "Derek did?" He looks briefly back at the teenager who is sitting on his opposite side. "What dad?"

"Well he could tell that you smelled different than most people. He told his mom and she could smell it too."

"What? …I don't smell!" Stiles feels the need to protest this. He shoots a nasty look back to Derek. Even if he does have super smelling powers, the werewolf could keep any mean comments to himself. Stiles knows that he does _not_ smell.

"No no. He smelled wolf on you Stiles," John interrupts, aware that his energetic son can easily be set off on a tangent. "You… you smelled like a wolf. Like how wolves smell to each other."

Stiles stops being perturbed immediately. "I did? Why?"

"Stiles do you know why wolves and humans live separately?" Talia asks from across the table, effectively interrupting the sheriff. Stiles blinks a few times but she's gained his attention. "Do you?"

"Because of when humans tried to kill all the wolves a long time ago?"

She smiles kindly. "Who told you that?"

"My teacher: Mrs. Harrison. She likes wolves more than most people."

"Does she?"

Stiles perks up. "Oh yeah. Mrs. Mccall—that's Scott's mom—she says that Mrs. Harrison only says nice things about wolves because she's a 'politically-correct brownnoser.' But I don't know what that means," he tacks on with a shrug. "I think wolves are fine."

"That's it? That's all you know?" This from Derek, who is staring at Stiles as if he's an ill-educated street child.

Stiles feels embarrassed. He knows the wolves get to go to better schools than them, do more things than them, and he doesn't want Derek to think that he's stupid, so he recites, "Hundreds of years ago, some people started turning into werewolves for no reason. The humans tried to kill all of them and there was a big war. Lots of blood and guts. Then at the end everybody signed a treaty, and the wolves got to be in control. Ever since then wolves and humans live separately so that there's peace."

Talia looks somewhat satisfied with his brief history, refraining from commenting further on it. She tells him, "A lot of people changed spontaneously back at the beginning. Even after the war, it still happened a lot. People would grow up, spending years with their human family before they changed." She looks carefully at the boy, sensing intelligence in him despite his age. "Do you know why that stopped?"

"'The genome settled out'," Stiles says from rote. "I don't know what that means though."

"It's a made up explanation," Peter bites out—the first time he's spoken during the meal. "Something scientists say to make humans feel safer."

"Nobody knows for sure," Talia says, urging Peter with her eyes to accept the compromise and shut up. She fixes her gaze on Stiles. "Almost all wolves are born naturally now. Born from wolf parents, wolf families. It is… uncommon for a human to just change anymore."

An uneasy feeling is creeping its way into Stiles' guts. "How uncommon?" he asks.

"The last known case in the county was ten years ago." Finally, all of the Hales look right at Stiles. Even Peter does. "Derek didn't just smell wolf on you," Talia explains seriously. "He smelled it _in_ you."

"Huh?"

"That's what we need to discuss, I'm afraid," she says. "Stiles, you are going to change into one of us."

"I'm not a werewolf!"

"You will be." Peter is staring at Stiles from across the living room. That's where they've all ended up since Stiles stormed away from dinner and went to watch television. He currently has the Fantastic Four movie playing, using it to distract himself from all of the adults in the room who want to get through to him. Smart kids that they are, Derek and Cora have stayed behind to eat the lasagna. Stiles sits there feeling very upset, wondering why, of all the things he could have turned out to be, it has to be this. Mr. Fantastic, the Invisible Woman, Human Torch, heck even Doctor Doom has the best powers with the coolest perks. Being told he is a werewolf feels a little like getting the short end of the straw. It feels like being The Thing. Nobody wants to be The Thing.

Once the commercial breaks start, Peter grabs the remote from him and crosses the room again. Stiles scowls. "Give that back!"

"I know this sucks kid, but you've got to listen to her." Peter presses the mute button. "Stop being a brat," he tells him matter-of-factly.

Stiles doesn't like matter-of-factly. He thinks that Peter is a cold-hearted jerk. Who else can announce to a ten year old kid that they're going to be forced to leave their family and friends forever without so much as an apology for the inconvenience? As much as he's always talked about the wolves, Stiles feels terrified at being told that he is the exact opposite of what he's always thought. Going to the other side of the county is about as good as going to the moon. "I'm not going," he tells them all again. He glances over to his dad, who has finally elected to pour a modest drink for himself. Though at this point Stiles can't blame him. If he was a grown up and liked booze, he would probably drink too. "Dad, tell them!"

John looks pained. So much so that Stiles could swear that he might cry. But the sheriff doesn't ever cry. Not since Stiles' mom. "I don't like it either kiddo but you have to listen to me: you _are_ a wolf." He can't bring himself to think about what else Talia has said might happen, what else that the kid—Derek—said Stiles might turn out to be to the Hale pack. It's confusing as hell and John can barely deal with the wolf part as it is. "A wolf, Stiles," he tells him again.

"I am not!"

"You're going to turn into one. Soon. They know what they're talking about kiddo. This does still happen sometimes." John can still remember a case— _the_ case—of another young man who'd changed back when John had first been a deputy. It'd been a big deal. Now, he touches Stiles' cheek. "I just never thought that it would happen to you. You know I still love you, right son? I'm not sending you to live with the Hales because I want to. It's just what's best for you now."

"No it's not. What's best is to stay with you! Who will make you eat your vegetables if I'm not here? And what about school and my friends? I can't just leave."

John can barely look at his son. To Stiles it seems as if his father is acting detached, but in fact the man is barely keeping it together. He knew that this would be hard, but not this hard. "You'll have a new school," he says. "It'll be a… a better life for you. I know you can't see it now, but one day you will. One day you'll see that this is the only way. I can't tell the alpha what to do."

"Dad?" Stiles starts to feel a cold reality seep in. His father is sitting there on the couch next to Talia Hale looking as miserable as Stiles feels, but he also looks just as resolute as Peter. For the first time, it occurs to Stiles that his father might not be able to save him from everything. "Dad? You're the sheriff. Tell them no. Tell them!"

John steadies his shoulders, steels himself for what he has to say. "I don't run this county. I don't make its laws. I just enforce them. And the law says you can't live here. Wolves have to be with wolves. For everyone's safety."

"And you won't be safe here Stiles." This from Talia. "Your teacher Mrs. Harrison: she likes wolves you said?"

Stiles nods. "Yeah." She really does. "But I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want to BE one."

Talia is patient. She says, "No. I'm sure she wouldn't. Stiles have you ever met anybody else who liked the wolves? Don't most people have bad things to say about us?"

"Well… yeah. I guess." It seems rude to flat out tell a werewolf that though. "People get angry. Sometimes."

Talia nods. "They do. People who are nice to you now Stiles, might not be so nice to you once you become like us. Some people may try to hurt you."

"Hurt me?" Stiles thinks of the dead werewolf girl.

"Yes. And even if they didn't, a lot of them would be cruel to you. You will not fit in here in Beacon Hills the way you do now. It won't be good for you. That's why the law is the way that it is. We're bringing you with us to protect you. It's not a punishment."

Stiles can't see how it isn't. Everyone in the room seems to be in agreement on this being the best course of action. Everyone except for Stiles himself. He feels like crying but is trying his very best not to. His dad hasn't cried and neither will he. He isn't a baby. Sheriff Stilinski stands up and moves towards the staircase. "I'm going to ah, go put some of his things together. Some things that he'll need." He takes a long sip of his drink and doesn't set it down on the coffee table. He carries it upstairs with him.

The movie comes back on. The Fantastic Four are all fighting on the city streets and Dr. Doom is throwing lightning bolts at Jessica Alba, but Peter has turned the T.V. to mute. Stiles sinks back into the couch cushions with a defeated sigh. He's supposedly going to magically turn into a wolf, and now he's being forced away from everything he knows to go and live with bunch of strangers? It's crazy! Crazier even than a movie. Feeling like his whole world is crashing down around him, Stiles peeks over the top of the couch and back towards the dining room where Derek is still eating. "Are you _sure_ you weren't smelling somebody else?" he nearly pleads. "Maybe Cora? Or Peter? He smells like Cinnabon you know."

Through the doorway, Derek just stares at him wryly.

Stiles' heart sinks. His dad comes back down the stairs with two duffle bags.

He hopes he at least gets to say goodbye to Scott first.


End file.
